The morning mist of Katushir Hold had not yet dissipated, but the drawbridge at the East Gate had already clanged down.
Over a dozen caravans, one after another, poured into the city from the direction of the Khyprian road—mules carried bulging burlap sacks filled with spices from Lustria, iron ore from the dwarf Mountains, and silk from the elf Forest; merchants, dressed in exquisite brocade robes, urged their teams forward while greeting the guards at the city gate with smiles; there were even a few massive Ogres, carrying wooden crates taller than themselves, lumbering behind the caravans, haggling gruffly with the guards, hoping to bring an extra jug of ale into the city.
Above the city walls, the grey-blue bricks were gilded with a warm gold by the morning light.
A hundred guards in gleaming silver chainmail patrolled back and forth, hands on the longswords at their waists, their sharp eyes scanning the dense forest outside the city; in the arrow slits of the city wall, the crossbows were fully drawn, bronze cannon muzzles pointed darkly into the distance, with Katushir's griffin emblem carved into their bodies.
The main thoroughfare within the city was even more bustling.
Shops on both sides had opened early; the clang of the Blacksmith Shop echoed, the scent of bread wafted from the bakery for half a street, and sparkling gems in jewelry store windows drew passersby to stop and gaze.
The streets were packed with various races: dwarf blacksmiths carried their hammers, humming folk tunes from their homeland; elf merchants held exquisite birdcages, the songbirds within singing melodious tunes; human mercenaries embraced prostitutes, drunkenly stumbling into roadside taverns; there were even a few goblins in coarse cloth clothes, squatting at street corners hawking poisonous mushrooms gathered from the forest, and though business was slow, no one dared to drive them away—it was a rule in Katushir that any race could settle here as long as they didn't cause trouble.
By the window on the second floor of a tavern, several Ogres were drinking around a huge wooden table.
They were shirtless, their bulging, scarred arms holding ale bowls larger than human heads, and after downing a bowl of ale, they let out deafening cheers.
A nearby dwarf mercenary, unable to stand it, slammed the table and argued with an Ogre about who could drink more, their faces red and necks thick with contention, yet no one actually came to blows—in Katushir, fighting was allowed, but damaging a shop was not, otherwise Escoville's personal guard would show you what 'rules' meant.
And the heart of this prosperous city was the Griffin Castle, located in the city center.
The castle was built of dark grey massive stones, its towering turrets piercing the sky, and the griffin banners on its spires flapped in the wind; at the castle gate stood two squads of heavily armored guards, their spears taller than a man, the griffin reliefs on their armor gleaming in the sunlight, and anyone wishing to enter the castle had to pass through three strict inspections.
At this moment, however, the atmosphere in the castle's council hall was somewhat solemn.
A huge wool carpet covered the center of the hall, embroidered with a map of Katushir's territory; on the stone chairs on either side sat the core officials who kept the city running—the Finance Officer in purple robes, the Military Affairs Officer with medals on his shoulder, the Jurist holding a law book, and the Lord's representative responsible for managing the estates outside the city, each with a serious expression, their gazes uniformly directed towards the man on the main seat.
Escoville sat on a tiger-skin covered Kurzadh chair; he was about fifty years old, his hair already somewhat grey, yet he remained vigorous, his eyes as sharp as an eagle's, dressed in a black robe embroidered with gold thread, a longsword inlaid with rubies at his waist—that was the symbol of Katushir's lords throughout history.
His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest, his gaze fixed on a man in a brocade robe below him, his brows slightly furrowed.
This man was Antonio.
According to Katushir's rules, no matter how wealthy a merchant was, without a title or real power, he could only stand in the corner of the council hall and listen, yet at this moment, Antonio sat on a stone chair next to the Military Affairs Officer, holding a steaming cup of red tea, his demeanor as composed as if he belonged there.
The reason was simple—half a month ago, Antonio, in front of all the officials, made a military pledge, vowing to eradicate the cloth Brotherhood on Khyprian road within a month.
At the time, Escoville dismissed it as drunken ramblings—the cloth Brotherhood had nearly a thousand members, entrenched by the swamps of Forest of Gloom, and Katushir had sent troops to encircle them three times without success; how could a mere merchant accomplish this?
He casually agreed, even smiling as he said, "If you can eradicate the bandits, the right to manage the Khyprian road will be yours," never expecting that in just ten days, Antonio would send word: the cloth Brotherhood was completely wiped out, their leader Edward was missing, and Khyprian road was now clear and unobstructed.
Escoville initially didn't believe it, until the scouts sent by the Military Affairs Officer reported back—the bandits' camp by the swamp was empty, leaving only a ground littered with bodies and traces of cannons stolen by greenskins ; caravans on the Khyprian road had resumed passage, and merchants all said they "encountered greenskins , but those greenskins didn't rob them, instead they helped drive away the bandits."
Now, Escoville was truly in a difficult position.
The road was Katushir's lifeline—caravans passing through this route annually brought in thirty percent of the city's taxes; moreover, the trail connected the southern plantations and the northern dwarf Mountains, and once controlled by someone else, Katushir's economy would be choked.
His casual promise of "management rights" was originally a jest, but Antonio had actually accomplished it, and if he didn't honor the agreement, he would not only be called "A lord who breaks his word" but might also provoke the forces behind Antonio.
Escoville knew very well that Antonio, a mere merchant, could never have eradicated the cloth Brotherhood on his own.
Those scouts found greenskin footprints, poisoned arrows, and squig droppings at the bandits' camp, but he never considered a "Greenskin tribe"—three years ago, the dwarf allied forces swept through Forest of Gloom, annihilating the greenskin tribes within, leaving only scattered goblins; how could a greenskin force capable of wiping out a thousand-strong bandits' guild suddenly emerge?
He was more willing to believe that Antonio had pledged allegiance to Prince Patton's Fiefdom or hired an imperial mercenary group—after all, only human forces would have the ability to eliminate the cloth Brotherhood in a short period.
"Mr. Antonio," Escoville broke the silence, his tone carrying a hint of probing, "you have rendered great service to Katushir by eradicating the cloth Brotherhood, and I, as Lord, should honor my promise. However, the Khyprian road is of great importance, and you, a merchant..."
He didn't finish his sentence, but his meaning was clear—you, a merchant, are not qualified to control the Khyprian road alone, and my officials will not agree.
The Military Affairs Officer immediately echoed, "The Lord is right! The defenses of the Khyprian road have always been handled by the army; if it's given to a merchant, who will be responsible if bandits appear again?"
The Finance Officer also nodded, "The trail's taxes are a crucial source of city revenue; if managed by an outsider, how can the accounts be transparent?"
Other officials chimed in, and the hall was suddenly filled with voices of opposition.
Antonio held his red tea, a faint smile playing on his lips, but he did not retort—he had long anticipated this.
When the officials had argued enough, Antonio slowly put down his teacup, stood up, and bowed slightly to Escoville: "My Lord, esteemed sirs, I understand your concerns. The Khyprian road concerns the safety of Katushir, and as a merchant, I indeed dare not control it alone."
His words instantly silenced the hall; the officials were stunned—this was not what they expected, Antonio gave up so easily?
Escoville was also a bit surprised, his brows furrowing even more—this little fox definitely had a trick up his sleeve.
Indeed, Antonio changed his tone: "However, since I made a military pledge, I cannot let the Lord lose credibility with the people. I have a proposal, if I may speak it."
"Speak freely," Escoville nodded.
"The Khyprian road is fifty miles long; why not divide it into two sections for management?" Antonio walked to the map, pointing at a red line on it, "From the East Gate to the forest, these twenty miles will be under the Lord's jurisdiction, with the army responsible for defense and taxation; from forest to the swamp's edge, these thirty miles will be under my management, and I will be responsible for eradicating remaining bandits, maintaining caravan safety, and submitting thirty percent of the taxes to the city treasury."
He paused, then continued: "Additionally, my merchant guild is willing to fund the construction of a waystation next to forest for caravans to rest, and the waystation's defense will be garrisoned by troops sent by the Lord. This way, both the safety of the trail is ensured, and it will not cause any discomfort to the esteemed sirs. What do you think, My Lord?"
The hall immediately fell silent.
The officials looked at each other, all finding the proposal very "thoughtful"—the first section was the core area of the trail, with high taxes and heavy defenses, under the Lord's jurisdiction, which both protected the city's interests and gave Escoville ample face; the latter section, near the swamp, was desolate and remote, with residual bandits, and giving it to Antonio would allow him to "Clean up the mess," and he would still submit thirty percent of the taxes, a win-win situation.
Escoville also breathed a sigh of relief—Antonio was giving him a way out.
He not only abandoned the demand to control the trail alone but also voluntarily gave up the core area and even offered to fund a waystation, showing both his astuteness and saving the Lord's face.
More importantly, this way, his officials would no longer object, as their core interests were not harmed.
"Good! It shall be as you say!" Escoville immediately decided, his tone softening, "I appoint you as 'Manager of the Eastern Section of Khyprian road,' responsible for the defense and caravan management of the eastern section, with thirty percent of the taxes submitted to the Finance Department. The construction of the waystation will be assisted by funds allocated by the Finance Department, and its defense will be handled by the Third Legion."
"Thank you, My Lord!" Antonio bowed, a perfectly appropriate smile on his face.
The Military Affairs Officer and the Finance Officer exchanged glances and no longer objected—Antonio had conceded so much, further opposition would seem ungracious.
The other officials, seeing the Lord's decision, also chimed in, and the atmosphere in the hall immediately became harmonious.
Escoville looked at Antonio, still somewhat puzzled—who exactly was behind this merchant?
He dared to give up core interests, certainly because the power behind him didn't care about these twenty miles of the trail, or rather, they wanted more.
And Antonio knew very well that he was merely an "intermediary." The true controllers of the eastern section of Khyprian road were those greenskins in forest—boss Kurzadh had said, "As long as caravans pay their tolls as per the rules, don't meddle," and as for who held the management rights, the greenskins didn't care; they only cared about "Can we loot things, can we fight WAAAGH!"
By giving him the management of the eastern section, he both gave Escoville face and made it convenient to account for the "tolls" to the greenskins —after all, "management fees paid by caravans" sounded much better than "tolls stolen by greenskins ."
After the meeting, the officials left the council hall one after another, and Antonio deliberately lagged behind.
Escoville walked up to him, lowering his voice to ask, "Antonio, tell me honestly, who exactly eradicated the cloth Brotherhood?"
Antonio smiled, took a sip of tea, and said calmly, "My Lord, some things are better unknown than known. You only need to know that Khyprian road will no longer have bandits, and caravans will continuously enter the city; that is enough."
Escoville stared at him for a long time, and seeing that he refused to tell the truth, he stopped pressing.
He patted Antonio's shoulder and turned to enter the inner chamber—no matter who was behind Antonio, as long as Katushir's prosperity could be ensured, he was willing to remain "ignorant" for now.
Antonio walked out of Griffin Castle and looked up towards Forest of Gloom.
Sunlight pierced through the clouds, scattering over the forest canopy, like a golden ocean.
He knew that in that forest, a group of green "Allies" were counting their spoils, and this power balancing act between him and Katushir was merely the first step in the rise of the Blackrock Clan.
The streets were still bustling, the jingle of caravan bells, the laughter from taverns, and the clang of the Blacksmith Shop intertwined, forming Katushir's most prosperous scene.
But no one knew that the fate of this city had already quietly and tightly intertwined with the greenskin tribe in the forest.